Sam's First Word
by SisiDraig
Summary: Oneshot (probably, should be called fluff). Just a little idea I had after rewatching some of the flashback episodes. Snapshot of life and growing up as a "very" young Sam and Dean.


**This is my first Supernatural fic. I'm embarrassed to admit that I have arrived here on the Netflix train, final destination complete Supernatural obsession. I'm still learning about the fandom, but I thought a fic about young Winchesters (wee!winchesters? – is that the right term?) might be a safe place to start. Apologies if this has been done before.**

**I hope you all enjoy.**

* * *

Dean watched his brother. Sam was barely a year old, but he'd already seen more horror than most adults. Still, he didn't remember it, not like Dean. Dean could remember the whole night but with his four year old brain, he still couldn't quite make sense of it. John never talked about it, so Dean followed suit.

Sammy couldn't remember the past; Sammy couldn't miss it, but Dean could. He longed for the smell of cookies baking in the oven, or the smell of his mom's perfume. Nice smells. Not like the smell of damp, dust and regret that rotted at the floorboards of Pastor Jim's house.

'Ah-yaaa boo kar,' Sam babbled, grabbing towards the television. This was Dean's favourite cartoon and it was one of the few things that captivated Sam's attention too. They'd seen it a hundred times or more, but it was still funny. John had even taped it for them. They were a package deal now; Dean, Sam and a VHS of the Loony Toons. Television: it made a good substitute babysitter whilst their chosen sitter was busy.

Dean didn't know where Pastor Jim was at this moment, but he thought it might have something to do with the sermon he was talking about at dinner. Dean guessed a s_ermon_ was probably a German Serpent. That was the sort of thing his dad, and Pastor Jim and Uncle Bobby would fight.

'Blah, ahg, raah go goo,' Sammy explained earnestly, pointing at the screen.

'You like this, Sammy?' Dean asked, wiggling off the uncomfortable chair and sitting on the parsonage's threadbare rug next to his brother.

'Ag. Ag.'

'Yeah,' Dean answered without irony. These were, after all, the most sophisticated conversations you could have with a pacifier-sucking poop machine. 'I like that bit too.'

A cartoon ton weight fell from the sky and squashed the bad guy flat. Sammy laughed hysterically. He just loved watching the bad guys get crushed. Dean loved it too. He imagined his father out in the real world crushing bad guys like the slithering, Germanic _Sermon_ that Pastor Jim was dealing with right now.

Dean sat close to his brother, he enjoyed that background "suck, suck, suck" of the pacifier. That was Dean's favourite item of Sam's. A little plug to stop all the tears leaking out. He usually forced it into his brother's mouth with a tired "shut up Sam".

Another cartoon bad guy was crushed and Dean laughed hysterically. Sam followed suit.

It wasn't long before Sam wasn't laughing anymore, and the dull blue light of the TV playing off the grey walls of the room, were lulling him into a comfortable sleep. Dean watched him, caught him before he was able to fall back onto the wooden floor.

'Protect the head, you must protect a baby's head.'

He remembered that warning clearly. His mom had said it every time he'd asked to hold his brother. He liked holding him, he liked showing him off and parading him around for the neighbours to see:

"Is this your little brother, Dean?"

"Yes."

"Can I see him?"

"Yes, but you can't hold him. I have to hold him. I know how to protect his head."

Dean led on the hard wooden boards, and rested his brother against him. He kept his head off the floor. He tried not to laugh too loudly, or shake too much, and soon enough the hypnotic blue light was sending him to sleep too.

* * *

When Dean awoke, he was in a soft bed and the sun was coming through the thin pale curtains, bouncing off green paisley patterned sheets. He could hear voices downstairs: one was the unmistakable tone of his dad hoping that the boys hadn't been too much trouble, the other Pastor Jim assuring him that the boys were no trouble at all and marvelling because:

'You didn't tell me Sam had said his first word.'

'He hasn't.'

'He has. He hasn't stopped saying it all morning.'

Dean sat up. He knew first words were a big deal. First words, were the beginning of sentences and the end of half conversations with nonsense babble. He jumped out of his bed and ran out of his room.

There was Pastor Jim at the doorway. There was his Dad just outside, looking a little beaten up but generally okay, and in his dad's arms was Sam, who beamed when he saw his older brother and said:

''ean.'

* * *

**Let's all give a little artistic licence around the fact that "Dean" is an incredibly difficult word for a baby to say.**


End file.
